


your lips are red

by sade12



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Banter, Fluff, Gen, M/M, i'm not sure how to tag this it's just very sweet and fluffy, just... really soft nonsense, long conversations., there you go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 02:32:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11934495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sade12/pseuds/sade12
Summary: a confession occurring at a favorable time.





	your lips are red

**Author's Note:**

> AKA. spock has Emotions and jim tries to help.  
> I'm a little new at this still and trying to get better at writing in third pov so all of my apologies if it's ooc or I switch tenses, I tried I really did. I'm heh, I'm a fan of spock being like... excessively protective and clingy. that's my thing, man. and I had to write about it because I haven't come across very much of it.  
> it's kind pon farr-ish... just a LITTLE. but instead, spock's affection is pointed at kirk. whoops  
> enjoy, let me know what you Think!!! thank you for reading at all lol, feedback keeps me going it really does.  
> probably wip, probably gonna have more chapters... ah stay tuned.

“I would hope I’m not taking up too much of your time.”

The words are out before his mind can regulate them. _I have already stated that,_ his Vulcan side mumbles softly.

“No, no. You’re not. How would you be?”

_I’m here far too often,_ his human side cries aloud. 

Strangely enough, both sides of him agree the confirmation was nice.

Days on the Enterprise were debilitating. With every passing hour of them it became slightly harder to function socially; his drive to have chats with anyone weakening in strength instead of growing. He had become numb and unfeeling, but more so than in only in the emotional sense.

He needed to occupy himself and meditation was becoming a less and less effective distraction. He slipped out of himself, all his decisions becoming ritual, doing things in a stunned and distracted way and putting no weight into them, watching his interest in things he’d once enjoyed dissipating at exponential rates. Chess seemed one dimensional now, sleeping was unvaried, nobody held good conversation. It was becoming embarrassing-- which, in of itself, was concerning. Vulcans weren’t supposed to feel embarrassment.

Often he found himself alone, and not wanting to be. Occupying the bridge after hours while minimal people were there, if anybody, clinging to the feeling of how it’d been earlier the same day when there was the idyllic security of being surrounded by people he knew. There were the other times where all he wanted was solitude; nothing more, nothing less, and he’d actively lash out at anyone who entered his bubble. 

The result of the two desires conflicting was laying supine or prone in bed admiring the filtered lights while attempting to create the sensations of being around his two friends artificially by imagining entire conversations and rehearsing them. 

Yet, now, in the captain’s quarters, the highly compelling discussion he’d wanted to have about antimatter conversion ideas seemed to fade from existence completely as he gazed without word into the hazel eyes reflecting his own.

"Spock?"

As he looks at his captain now, there’s something there now that wasn’t before and he’s not sure what it is.

“Spock,” Kirk says, leaning forward in his chair to meet Spock’s downcast gaze.

Dragged out of his thoughts, Spock looked up, but his eyes didn’t exactly seek out Kirk's. Instead, they rested softly on his tunic, and then on the mesh divider as if there was something particular of interest about it. Now able to focus, he begins to slowly peruse the finer details; the green of the tunic, the golden decals, the depth and exact circumference of the V-neck. It's particularly interesting now.

After having his fill of that, Spock looks up. “Yes,” he says.

“Lost in thought, I take it?”

“Yes.”

“Mm. What about?”

“Nothing of interest,” Spock says. He clasps his hands together loosely, needing movement. He carries himself in an odd way- something Kirk had undoubtedly picked up on. He walks around in circles looking at everything with a quizzical expression on his face, one that reads ‘I’ve been tangling with a question for weeks now and I’m not sure how to answer it’. “Merely speculating.”

“Well, why not take a seat while you speculate?” With a stretch, Kirk stands and crosses the space to the synthesizer, brushing Spock’s arm with his for a fraction of a moment. “Get comfortable, get comfortable. Uh, pull up that chair over there. You hungry? Thirsty?”

Spock’s eyesight trails down to the hem of the seat. “Were you not about to rest?”

“Not yet,” Kirk says.

“No?”

_Lies. He is lying. By this hour, on every past night of this week- excluding one, which was immaterial due to him working somewhat later than usual in the engine room with Mr. Scott and two ensigns- the Captain has been asleep by this point. I am able to deduce this seeing as when I came those days, the door would not open to me and he could not be found elsewhere. He is lying,_ says his Vulcan side.

_Regardless of if he’s lying or not, this is a good opportunity to spend more time with him. It doesn’t matter if he's lying. He is here now and he has opened up to me. I want to do that. I want to spend more time with him,_ says his human side.

Spock sighs under his breath. It’s getting annoying.

“Not really tired tonight, I don’t think. Not sure why. I’m glad you’re here now, though. I have... someone to talk to.” Sequestered in the synthesizer’s receptacle is an inviting looking cup of steaming milk tea, which Kirk slips his hands around. “So. What shall we talk about on this fine night?”

“As we’re not in any solar system and near no sun at our present coordinates, I don’t believe...”

Kirk laughs. It’s dry, but it’s still a laugh. “Spock.”

“Yes?”

“Will there ever be a day... you learn to take things figuratively?”

“I would not depend on it.”

“I will, anyway.” Under a sip of the tea, Kirk conceals a smile. “Really, though, what’s on your mind?”

A fear that had no name was waiting on the horizon. Spock pulls the chair over and slips seamlessly into the offered seat, swallowing dryly. “Nothing.”

“That’s surprising.”

“Is it?”

“You’re always talking about something.”

_Is that good or bad?,_ Spock’s human side asks.

“Am I?”

“You were talking about the texture of peanut butter when you came earlier,” Kirk says, flatly.

“That is because you were having some and it was of strict contextual relevance. If I talked about that now, it would be illogical.”

“No, it’d be kind of funny.”

“How so?”

“Imagine... We’re just sitting here, you know. Basking, and then, out of nowhere...” Kirk steels his expression to a deadpan reminiscent of Spock’s, but it fades and his smile resumes. “Wait, no. What’d you say, again? Oh, yeah,”- his smile fades once more- “’but that’s not to say the peanut itself doesn’t deserve recognition for this buttery goodness’.”

Spock prims his lips and looks off to the side.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. It was funny.” 

“I’m not entirely sure why I said that.”

He says this, but he knows why. It was a way to distract him from going up to the bridge; give a lengthy diatribe on the dimensions of peanut butter, though it only worked for twenty minutes and eventually Kirk caught on. Spock reveled in every second of it nonetheless.

“It was incredible. I don’t think I ever give you credit for how funny you are sometimes.”

A moment of dead air manifests and expands. Spock sits in suspended animation, mildly nonplussed. He’s able to create a weak smirk kind of smile and tries to lapse back into his stoic, analytical ways but falters. The uneasy weightless feeling fades, and so does the odd sense of fear. _He liked that,_ he thinks vaguely, unsure of which side of him it hails from. _He found that enjoyable._

“Thank you, ca- Jim.” There is a moment of still calm as he attempts to decipher the source of the freeing relief he just felt.

_Good. That was good. I need to do more of that._

He allows his eyes to drift around the room blankly, but as if there’s some magnetic effect in play his gaze always lands back on some article or extremity of Kirk. Steam wells up from the tea. He absently ponders how to make Kirk laugh again when,

“If you don’t have anything to say, though, what brings you here? Not to be rude, of course.”

A plethora of nouns come to mind; more than are really necessary, most being negative. Boredom, he thinks, but scratches it out. Longing? He weighs his options; what wouldn’t be too revealing but effective, what did his friend deserve to be told?

Friend was beginning to seem like a very chaste descriptive word to both sides of him.

“I want to be here.”

“Oh?” This time, Kirk’s confused. “But why?”

“I’d like to.”

“Something wrong with your room?”

Spock repositions himself in his seat. “Why would something be amiss with my quarters?” A brief mental image of his quarters provided disarray; the bed unmade, chairs strewn, equipment and books needlessly scattered beyond recognition. Normally the thought alone would cause him to scold himself, but not in this moment. There is no Enterprise, no existence outside of Kirk’s quarters. “Everything is as it should be.”

“I just... had a feeling. Never mind.” Kirk takes another slow sip, looking up from under his brow. “You’re here all the time now. But, really. If there is something wrong, I can have someone go in there and-”

“I appreciate the notion, but that won’t be necessary.”

Kirk rests his cup down without comment. He blinks twice, expecting Spock to explain.

“It’s not my quarters that have fault.”

“So something is wrong?”

“Somewhat.”

“You tired?”

“It’s quite worse than that.” 

How much worse silence is, the torture of being alone in a state of mental disquiet brought on by normally suppressible factors. How much worse it is to have to admit to mental imbalance when you are seen as logic’s posterchild. How much worse it is to crave more and more and know it would never be returned, and even worse to have a faint grasp of who you want it from.

How much worse it is to prepare to admit that his dire, all-encompassing emotions and his natural distaste for them constantly, constantly annihilate each other and, at times like now, come to a head and begin to show on the surface. 

“Just stressed out? Stressed out and tired?"

Stress couldn’t be able to hold a man hostage like this. Stress couldn’t render a man a lifeless, perpetually bored husk of himself. Stress couldn’t bounce a man mercilessly between emotional states. Stress couldn’t dangle a man on a pendulum between uncontrollable anger and absolute disassociation from reality. Stress couldn’t bring about the near-total destruction of a man’s quarters. Not on it’s own.

“Not definitively.”

“Then what is it?”

“It depends...” he takes a long, deliberate breath. “upon one’s interpretation on the term ‘wrong’.”

“That has the same meaning everywhere. Universally bad. Not a good thing. What do you mean?”

The previous calm atmosphere falls into obscurity and the room’s energy turns into one of worry. Spock says nothing. 

“Spock,” Kirk leans forward, hovering over the table and using his elbows as support, “it’s something I should know about, isn’t it?”

No response.

“Spock.”

This time, Spock murmurs, clearing his throat. “I...”

“What?”

“Yes. Yes.” Spock says. A soft, lackadaisical plea with no real weight to it, no intonation. His tone is set, firm, and toneless, as if he’s only partly present. _He’s worried,_ both sides of him say. _You’ve worried him now._

“Well, then... what’s going on?”

No response.

“Spock, you’re gonna need to explain this to me more than just saying... nothing, or no,” Kirk says. His voice is low; possibly due to the hour and common courtesy, possibly due to confidentiality. “Open up a little bit.”

“I don’t think you’ll ever want to talk to me again.”

“What? Why?”

Under the table, Spock’s hands quiver.

Kirk notices.

“There’s nothing you can’t tell me. I swear. Come on, go.” Kirk says this with very slight, yet obvious haste. Talking about Vulcan matters always felt slightly awkward; so one-sided- he was treading in water too deep to stand in yet also too shallow to swim in. 

That wasn’t to say he didn’t care, though. He cared immensely. More so than he would have readily admitted. He wasn’t exactly expecting to be talked into the ground given the circumstances and the complete tonal shift of the conversation, but he could hope for it. Spock was normally so steeled that seeing any emotions out of him was something to be reveled; it _had,_ though, started to slowly become more commonplace. He wasn’t as much like his home race as he claimed to be. Not ever. Something big could be preparing to happen, he had a feeling. “You being Vulcan and having, you know, different things about you because of it doesn’t make you... that odd.”

A moment passes.

“I am not going to try and correct you, as I know you’ve already made up your mind in that regard.” Spock speaks slowly and deliberately. “But you are wrong.”

“I’m wrong?”

“Yes.”

“You’re the way you are. Why should I care if you’re, I don’t know,”- he uses air quotes on the word- “’weird?’”

“It affects you.”

“I’ll take that seriously when you tell me how.”

Spock takes a long pause and stares overly intently at the cup; watching Kirk’s fingers wrap around it, watching him finish his tea and watching him push himself upwards to do away with it. Everything is in slow motion... He never figured Kirk for a tea sort of man, but who’d drink coffee at this hour... It’s far more reasonable to just have a lighter thing, like tea... Though tea dehydrates, so a glass of water should accompany it before resting...

He snaps out of the apparent trance when Kirk returns and prods his shoulder.

“Spock...”

“Jim.”

“Help me out. Where is this coming from?”

No response.

“This... this self depreciation. It’s not like you. What is it?” Once again, Kirk leans in, only to see Spock visibly flinch and then look away. He’s not exactly trembling, but there is a definite almost squirm about it. “Listen, I won’t write this up. I promise I won’t. On one condition... You tell me what it is. You wouldn’t have told me if it wasn’t important.”

“Have I not already stated it?”

“I guess I missed it, then.”

“I am concerned that in some way I will alter our friendship for the worse due to my...” Spock pauses here, full stop, as if he forgot how to speak entirely. When his voice returns, it is softer and more tender. “Jim?”

“Yeah?”

“Since you have previously differentiated the two...”

Kirk watches him in silence.

“Do you prefer my more logical side or my more, I suppose one would call it, personable side?”

There is an undercurrent of insecurity to the words. 

The amount of concern that washes over Kirk then is immense; it’s a steel wall, it’s an iron curtain, it’s confusing, it’s desensitizing. The questions press long and hard; what does that mean? Why would he ask that? What drove him to it? Is he okay? 

The problem with that is, with Spock, ‘okay’ is synonymous with every emotion there is.

“Why do you ask?”

“I need to know.”

“I don’t... prefer either.” Noticing the look that immediately appears on Spock’s face, he continues; “I mean, you wouldn’t be you without both... halves, no? It wouldn’t be the same if you were just split like that. It really wouldn’t. I need you in one piece, not two.”

Spock counts his heartbeats as they pass; one, two. One, two. One, two. 

Time elapses and he’s not sure how much of it drifts by until he looks away from his lap and back into the eyes that parallel his.

For a moment, his guard is down, and his human half gets the better of him. “I need you, too.”

Any other point in time and any other situation; any other corner of space, any other area, Kirk would have undoubtedly responded with an extinguishing flow of arbitrary flirting; probably a joke about his ears, a comment to subtly yet effectively debase him and point out how human he’s getting. Tease him a little, wait a little, tease him some more. Push, and see if he’s pushed back.

The chances of this being a joke are slim and nigh completely infeasible. The expression on his face now is soothed, and Spock can’t feign reactions or expressions. His authenticity is genuine. The next thought that springs to mind is that this is a confession to something; a poorly executed one, but nevertheless... a confession. And if it is, that’s surprising, but not exactly unwanted. He’s just not sure how to react to it, where their relationship would go from here.

"I need you," Spock says again, concerned it didn't stick.

“Ah...” Kirk tries to say. He lets out what Spock would term a soft huff.

In a matter of seconds, all the progress Spock thought he’d made seemed to unravel into nothingness and they were back to square one- no, square zero; as if he was back on his bed when all of this started, and the possibility of a physical, mental and even emotional decay was very much real again.

Or so he thought, until Kirk spoke up again; a faint yet omnipresent smile across his face. 

“I’m glad.” His voice, however, was uncharacteristically suppressed and quiet. “I’m glad, Spock.”

“Yes.” Spock’s voice was equally breathless.

"Yeah. I... I need you too."

Spock's understanding of human tendencies and mannerisms tell him what the salmon color on his face means, and then the voice is back: _He liked that. He found that enjoyable._ In this, Kirk, regardless of whether he was aware of it or not, handed in his ballot card for what he’d prefer; personable. More open, more feeling.

And that, Spock could be, if needed.

That he could be.


End file.
